


Facepalm

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, WTF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-11
Updated: 2017-12-11
Packaged: 2019-02-13 10:01:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12981657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Vertical beds are the worst. Until Spirk happens.





	Facepalm

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Then Spirk's the worst. Sorry, had to WTF for my 1600th fic.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Leonard genuinely thought the worst thing about the Mrennenimians was their fashion sense, forcing everyone to wear enormous, drab robes that look more like bed sheets than clothes, but that was until he realized that they expect people to sleep _standing up_. He tried to wriggle his way out of it with a medical excuse—humans require horizontal rest—but, of course, Jim insisted that they’d respect their host’s wishes and spend the night in vertical compartments. In a way, it almost makes sense together—the Mrennenimians wear their blankets, because there’s no other way to be properly bundled up in the oddly egg-shaped cubicles.

He tries to make a nest of his oversized cape on the floor anyway, because at least they believe in privacy—he hopes—and no one will ever know. Except his spine, of course, which is sure to protest a night on the hard carpet. But given his choices and Jim’s refusal to let him beam up, there doesn’t seem any other option.

He’s just completed his mattress facsimile, grateful that he wore his uniform under the robe and still has it to wear, when a shrill bird noise rings out through the room. It takes him a second to realize it’s the Mrennenimian version of a doorbell, and by then, it’s wrung again.

Grumbling up a storm and tugging his now-ruined bed back on, Leonard heads for the door. He has to actually tap his nose against the panel on the wall, as that’s the only thing it’ll apparently correctly read, and then the flat rectangle is disappearing up into the ceiling. Even that’s vertical. Leonard likes the Mrennenimians less with every passing second.

Yet it’d almost be better if it were them coming to check on him, because instead, it’s Jim and Spock, and their expressions tell him something’s wrong. Spock looks conspicuously stony—something only Leonard and Jim would ever pick up on—and Jim smiles like everything’s fine, which usually means it isn’t. The oddest thing about them is the way they’re standing, facing one another, their tent-like robes covering everything below their chins. Jim chirps, “Mind if we come in?”

Leonard says, “Yes,” but they both shuffle past him anyway, glued together at the hip. Regretting it already, Leonard nose-taps the door panel to lower it again. 

When he turns back to his colleagues, Jim immediately bursts, “I can explain—”

“We were operating within acceptable parameters,” Spock starts, uncharacteristically interrupting, only for Jim to talk right over him again.

“We were in the room they gave us, so it’s not like we were in front of them—”

“It was most illogical of our hosts to send an ambassador unannounced into our chambers.”

“—And we tried to explain the differing biology involved, but she totally didn’t understand—”

“It was merely a misunderstanding.”

“—if we’d known they were like this, obviously we wouldn’t have done _anything_ —”

When he gets tired of swiveling his head between them, Leonard barks, “Explain _what_?” And Spock glances at his captain, thrusting the burden on Jim. Leonard already guessed this whole situation would be inappropriate by Vulcan standards.

Sure enough, Jim sighs, then lifts up the hem of his robe, bundling it higher and higher, far past anything appropriate by _Leonard’s_ standards, and it’s immediately clear that Jim’s not wearing his uniform underneath. To Leonard’s horror, Spock joins in, until both of them are holding up their skirts, and Leonard’s staring at their crotches.

There’s a brightly-coloured tube connecting them, wrapped snuggly around their cocks. For one nauseating moment, Leonard just _stares_.

“She had it on before we knew it,” Jim groans, “and we can’t get it off!”

“The captain suggested we recall our away team to the Enterprise, but I’m sure you understand, Doctor, why we should not materialize before the transporter operator this way, nor would we be able to reach sickbay in an acceptable manner.”

Leonard just sort of numbly nods. He can’t tear his eyes away. He doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because these are the men his life often depends on.

Then, as he’s continuing to bore holes into their uni-dick, it occurs to him that he’s seen something similar before. He squints, actually bending down to examine the mesh of the product, and when he rises again, he’s sure of it.

Jim asks in that sort of comical way that actually just betrays his worry, “Think you can save us, Doc?”

As much as Leonard would like to let them suffer and learn a lesson, he really does want to get back to the ship, where he can disappear into his cabin and go as long as possible without looking either one of them in the eye again. So he admits, “I may be familiar with this technology.”

Jim grins, and Spock’s eyes, if possible, glimmer with the faintest ray of hope.

Leonard steps closer, reaches around them, and splays one hand against Jim’s back, the other against Spock’s. He nudges them both towards each other, and they obediently follow. They go one step, then another, and then they’re flush against one another, and Jim grunts, only to mutter, “Hey, I think it’s wider—”

Regretting every decision that lead up to this point in his life, Leonard squeezes his hand between them and clutches the tub, thumb and pinky holding either end together. He orders, “Step back,” and they both obey, slipping cleanly out of the trap. Spock instantly has his robe back down, Jim swiftly following.

Leonard drops the tube like it’s on fire, letting it clatter to the floor.

Spock mutters, “Fascinating,” which is not at all the word Leonard would use for it.

“Ancient Chinese finger-trap,” Leonard tells Jim. Jim slumps in relief.

The room is eerily silent for a few seconds more, no one meeting anyone’s eyes. 

Finally, Jim fishes his communicator out of a fold in his robe and tells Scotty, “Two—er, three—to beam up.”


End file.
